A Glass of Dignity
On a hot summer day in 1997, as I walked down Al-Sa’adoon Street in Baghdad, the heat was overwhelming. I stopped at a small juice shop and bought a cup of cold licorice juice, enjoying its refreshing taste.
As I stood there, a woman dressed in a black abaya approached with her young son, no older than five. She asked the vendor for the price. "One hundred Iraqi dinars," he replied, an amount worth less than five cents at the time. She hesitated for a moment, then turned away, unable to afford it.
The boy, desperate for a sip of the cold drink, began to cry and reach out. The scene broke my heart. I quickly bought another cup and rushed to offer it to him. But before I could reach them, the mother turned away with quiet dignity, holding her son close. She refused my help, choosing pride over charity. The last thing I saw was the child’s small hand stretched out, longing for the juice, before they disappeared into the distance.
At that time, Iraq was suffering under severe economic sanctions, and millions of people struggled daily to afford even the simplest necessities.
In this installation, a copper urn, traditionally used by licorice juice vendors, is displayed along with tools from this fading craft. On a hot day, I carried these very objects through the streets, offering licorice juice to children for free. This piece is a tribute to that little boy whose face I will never forget, and to all children who suffer from poverty and deprivation, in Iraq and around the world.
